


Under Market

by UnorthadoxScribe



Category: Under Market
Genre: 1960s, 1968, Bradley Acton, Magic, Mystical, Novel, Other, Pest Control, Story, Under Market - Freeform, pests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnorthadoxScribe/pseuds/UnorthadoxScribe
Summary: Bradley is a tired, middle aged gentleman in the pest control business. Not just your usual run of the mill pest control business though - one for the most mystical of pests. When a job calls for him to visit an underground market, Bradley gets more than he bargains for : a daunting, taxing quest that he is "just too old for!"





	Under Market

Mrs. Honsby was a stoic, impatient woman - red in the face, pinny wrapped around her, rollers in thinning grey hair under her hairnet, thick-rimmed glasses that framed her tiny, pinched eyes. Wrinkles lined her pursed mouth and frown-aged forehead. She was a portly woman; short from hunching. For the last twenty or so years of her life, her wagging right index finger had had more exercise than the rest of her as she wagged it out of the window at the children on their bikes, wagged it at the milkman for arriving a whole six and three quarter minutes too late and even at poor Mr. Honsby who's crime was turning the page of his newspaper far too loudly. The current recipient of this wagging finger was Bradley Acton, her pest control man who was currently peering up her fireplace with great expertise. He bent at the waist and leaned both palms on each knee trying to spot the cause of her pest control call.  
"Villhags." He stated simply after a while and stood to his full height of five foot eleven. "A great dirty big family of Villhags! Quite easy to get rid of Mrs..."  
"Honsby!" Mrs. Honsby responded with great pride. Bradley nodded once, simply and firmly.  
"Right. Mrs. Honsby. Villhags-" He gestured to the fireplace.  
"Yes yes, I know what a Villhag is!" She snapped and shot him a glare. "I haven't lived six and a half decades to never see one thank you very much!" Bradley bristled and gave her a tight smile.  
"I'll go and get my things from the van then." He excused himself. He stepped out of the nice middle-class house and out into the mildly overcast middle-class street where trees lined the grass that lined the road. His van was a rather handy Chevy '65 GMC Handi-bus, something he held to great pride. It was the first and only van he owned and despite lack of storage room, used the seats and foot space for places to store his tools of trade and creatures. Bradley was rather proud to say that he'd also given it it's own brand new paint job. A nice chocolate brown with "Acton's Pest control" lettered on in bright orange. A small picture of a Villhag, a Goblin, and a Sparantula adorned the bonnet. 

Now at this point, you're probably wondering. What on earth is a Villhag and why is Bradley Acton removing a great big dirty family of them? The answer is quite simple. Bradley Acton is, simply put, a magical pest control man. He'd been in the business for ten years and thought himself quite the expert on removing all manner of pesky house and garden creatures, mystical or not. Bradley was an older gentleman and struck a striking resemblance to a taller Richard O'Sullivan - something he was quite pleased with. Now, a Villhag is an obnoxious creature, quite like a baby pigeon with little to no feathers and well reliant on other creatures to survive in the world. In some terms, it can communicate, but rather poorly. It was a sickly looking bird and rather odd to look at. Bradley was well versed in these types of creatures and thought them to be awkwardly cute if you could get past the racket they made. A sharp jab with a chimney sweep broom would do the trick to knock out the nest. Then they could make their own way out of the house and into the wilderness. 

The mystical pest control man returned to Mrs. Honsby's living room, sheets of tarpaulin in one hand and his trusty chimney sweep broom in the other, a box and a dustpan and brush.  
"Now you mind my carpets"! Mrs. Honsby warned, wagging her finger in Bradley's direction. "These are nice and new! Just over £2000 you know!" She preened, her usually pursed mouth stretched into a closed-mouth smile. Quite like a frog, thought Bradley. Still, £2000 was quite a lot of money back in 1968. He was getting well paid today if Mrs. Honsby and her husband were kind enough to tip.  
"It's very nice, Mrs. Honsby." He nodded. It wasn't. It was an off shade of green that reminded him of what came out of an Urbil - a rather vile version of a guinea pig. The tarpaulins went down around the fireplace entrance with a nice crispy crackle and Bradley set off to work. Soot fell as the chimney sweep brush tickled the inside of the chimney, dusting his face. He knew when to close his eyes, luckily. His nose crinkled up and he squinted carefully. Removing something such as a Villhag was a tricky task and more often than not, he had to leave it up to his other senses to get the little buggers out. The broom suddenly hit something solid and strained to climb any higher.  
"Gotcha!" He exclaimed. With a violent thrust upwards, six little ugly birds tumbled down into the hearth, squawking madly and blindly, bumping into each other and falling flat on their arses straight after.  
"Me no like!"  
"What happen?!"  
The remnants of their nest fell after them, resulting in a small explosion of soot, dust, and sticks.  
Mrs. Honsby took a step back and wrinkled her nose in abhorrence.  
"Utterly disgusting creatures! Get them out!" She grimaced and visibly shuddered as she eyeballed the birds. Bradley swept up the still squawking Villhags in one fluid motion and dumped them in the cardboard box just next to the hearth. He dusted his hands and wiped them on his coat. It didn't matter if he got soot on it, it was black anyway and needed a good wash out and mangle.  
"All done!" He smiled and peered at the creatures in the box and with a musing tone said: "I find them oddly cute, y'know."  
"Pah! Ugly little bastards if you ask me." Mrs. Honsby stated. "And I want them out of my house this instant!" Bradley gave her a tight smile.  
"Right! Yes! Right away." He lifted the box up by its sides, causing the Villhags' screeching to worsen. A few tumbled over.  
"Where go?!"  
"What doing?!" It was best not to answer them back. It was best to ignore them altogether. He took them out to his van and popped them into the back. No lid would be needed. They weren't clever enough to escape.  
"That'll be £5 please Mrs. Honsby!" Bradley called out.  
"Would you quieten down?!" The old lady hissed. "I do not want the whole street to know I had... those!" She pointed to the van and produced four £1 notes from her pinny. "Matter of fact, you shouldn't have parked right in front of my house. £4!" She balled the notes in her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. "Take it or leave it!" Bradley felt the overwhelming need to roll his eyes or groan or sigh but didn't. He didn't need another pound docked for attitude and needed the money for petrol for the van.  
"I'll take the £4 then please, Mrs. Honsby." He went to place his hand out but the woman scowled and stepped closer to him and chose to grab his wrist and slap the money into his palm.  
"Don't you go talking! I know what you exterminators are like. 'Mrs. Honsby on number fourteen had Villhags!' this and 'Mr. Maysel had Goblins in his garden on Sycamore Avenue.'" She wagged her finger at him. "I shall be calling your superiors if I hear any talk!" Said she, before turning on her heel and marching off back into her house. Bradley shook his head and slide behind the wheel of his Chevy.  
"Phone my superior. I run my own business, cheers. Won't get me fired in a hurry. Blimey!"  
"Blimey!" Echoed the Villhags in their box.


End file.
